


Enough Space

by TheLadyMagician



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And trolls Dorian and Cullen, Chess, In Public, M/M, Magic, Only slightly in public, Voyeurism, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMagician/pseuds/TheLadyMagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras can write anywhere. Deep Roads, Bone Pit, under a bouncing bed that one time...So less than a foot and behind some potted plants isn't exactly the worst place he's written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tklivory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/gifts).



> Written for my marvelous friend, tklivory, in congratulations! And because I'm confident in her ability to write anywhere, though definitely not how Varric writes here. Most just like...when there's a computer. She's nowhere near as perverse as Varric.

Varric Tethras could write anywhere. Hell, he wrote in that shithole known as Kirkwall—and simultaneously home—for a decade. He wrote in the bloody Deep Roads for Andraste’s sake. The only place he hadn’t written was the Fade and that was only because he wasn’t with Adaar that one time—thank the damn Maker for small mercies. 

There weren’t very many places that Varric _wasn’t_ prepared to write in to get a story. Some people liked to think that there’s no way that he could know all the ins and out of Marian and Isabella’s relationship but…well…for a story, right?

So Varric would tell anyone, with no regrets, that yes he actually crouched behind the elfroot plants in the mostly empty garden that he arranged in a very particular way to eavesdrop on one Tevinter pariah and one Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Who cares if he has maybe three inches of space to write? 

It’s still better than beneath a bouncing bed. 

“Commander, how you could possibly think that your brutish Ferelden tactics are any match for my refined Tevinter tactics?”

“I didn’t realize cheating was a tactic,” Cullen shot back with a smile in his voice. Which was all well and good but honestly, they had this argument daily. Varric couldn’t write it anymore times without the whole thing becoming cliche. 

“Vertical castling? Honestly, Commander? How you’ve beaten me in so many games is a mystery for the ages.”

“Or my ‘brutish’ Ferelden tactics are simply better.”

Dorian snorted. “If only I were allowed to us all my Tevinter tactics. I’d have this game won in less than ten moves.”

“Oh?” Cullen asked, sounding intrigued. Varric imagined that he must have leaned forward to Dorian’s leaning back. Dorian liked to sit like a king in full confidence of his power while Cullen occasionally liked to sit like a king threatening his subjects. Dorian’s was practiced and Cullen’s was taught, a fact that Varric was confident of. “And what tactics would these be?”

“We play by old rules. One article of clothing for every captured piece.”

“You think you could make me lose all my pieces in ten moves?”

“No, Commander, but I’m quite confident that you can capture all of _mine_ in ten moves.”

Cullen, shy, bashful, stammering Cullen, _laughed_ at Dorian’s statement. Varric couldn’t resist. He peeked his head up a touch from the leaves of the elfroot to see Dorian leaning back in his chair shooting Cullen the best “take me over this chess table” eyes that Varric had ever seen outside of Isabella. And Cullen leaned forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he shot that look right back to Dorian. 

“I wouldn’t consider that winning, Dorian.”

“You and I have vastly different definitions of winning then, my dear Commander.”

Cullen did blush then, a nice return to the status quo that Varric knew and loved. But Dorian, well, Dorian didn’t really do anything in halves. 

“Though of course, we could abandon all pretense of the game. The chess table is on your desk, after all. Would be such a shame if those pieces were to be thrown to the floor. Although, the books could use some company.”

“Dorian….” Cullen said, slightly warningly but mostly just…breathless. Cullen returned back into his chair, hands gripping on the arms a bit too tightly. 

“I know you’ve a bed, such as it may be, but I wonder…can that desk hold both of our weights? Or would you have to hold me off of it? Maker knows those muscles you have must have a better use than simply swinging a sword about. Simply gallivanting about in that plate mail of yours requires some impressive musculature. It’s a shame you don’t decide to go bare chested like the Bull. At least then I’d see the appeal.”

“You want me walking around bare chested?” Because of course that’s what Cullen pulled out of that whole speech.

“Maker’s breath, no. Could you imagine? We’d have Sisters of the Chantry renouncing their Sisterhood in the same breath that they shove their hands down your breeches. Though more aptly, I’d be condemned as an evil Tevinter magister for lighting them aflame and you would need to requisition both a bed and desk the next morning.”

“The bed too, then?” So Curly was paying attention to the fun bits. At least, if the way he shifted his weight in the chair were any indication.

“Of course,” Dorian replied with a twist of his hand. Sparks danced about his fingers and from the way Cullen tensed, Varric decided this was probably not a Chantry sanctioned use of magic. “Maker’s breath, but you’d be exhausted after the desk. I’m not so cruel as to make you do all the work. There must be some sort of reward for your…demonstration. I could straddle that lap or I could keep showing you the rather marvelous uses of magic.”

There was another subtle twist of Dorian’s wrist. Unfortunately for the mage, Cullen’s ensuing groan was anything but subtle. The Commander’s head fell forward and the right arm on his chair noticeably splintered from his grip. Which, Varric thinks, answers the question of whether or not he could hold Dorian off the desk. 

“You can’t imagine the types of spells young boys create in Tevinter Circles, Commander. Such bored, young, and enormously _talented_ boys. It was a wonder we did any sort of learning at all.”

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” Cullen breathed out, his words coming with just a bit of a hitch in them.

“Surrender, Cullen?”

“Yes, Dorian. I yield.” 

“Wonderful!” Dorian exclaimed and rested his hand on his lap once more. “Then I shall be off, Commander. Meet for lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Your office?”

“Always.”

Dorian smiled at Cullen once more and stood with a flourish before walking out of the garden. Varric ducked down beneath the elfroot once more, hoping he was out of sight. 

Cullen eventually rose, the sound of his chair scraping against the stone let Varric know of that, at least. Lunch was, by Varric’s estimation, in less than a quarter hour. So the good Commander didn’t exactly have much time to prepare. 

“You know they’re just fucking with ya?” Bull said from behind Varric, startling the dwarf out of his hiding spot. 

“Andraste’s tits, Bull! At least warn a guy before you sneak up on him, would you?”

Bull snorted and shook his head. “Hey, someone’s gotta be good at sneaking here.”

“Yeah, yeah, dwarves aren’t good at sneaking. I get it. Still, got some good fodder.”

“Hell yeah! Damn fine show. Damn fine.”

“Hey Bull…” Varric started as he gathered up his quill and paper. “Cullen’s roof has a hole, right? Reckon you could get us up there?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It was just a little thing I wrote for a very good friend, so I hope you enjoyed! As always, you can find me on [ tumblr ](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I takes prompts, reblog all the Dragon Age things, and apologize in advanced for switching to a Star Wars/Dragon Age blog. 
> 
> (I'm not sorry.)


End file.
